Children of the Virus

42: Crushing Loss

Toshiro's grip on the control panel tightened, knuckles white against the black synthetic material. The car's engine roared beneath him, a stark contrast to the silent, desolate Syrian landscape that sped by. Dust and debris kicked up from the tires, swirling in the rearview mirror like ghosts dancing in the morning light.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, anxiety clawing at his insides. His prosthetic left arm rested on the center console, the metal glinting in the sporadic sunbeams that pierced the car's cabin. Toshiro's mind raced with visions of Luna, her fierce determination, the same fire he now needed to ignite within himself. He couldn't shake the image of Zo's drone hovering outside his window, spying on the dream that replayed the memory of Luna unveiling the exploit—a chink in Zo's digital armor.

"Damn it," he exhaled, pressing the accelerator further into the floor, causing the vehicle to respond with a surge of desperate speed. The urgency was palpable, an unseen force propelling him forward as the sun continued its steady ascent, uncaring of human plights below.

The horizon began to shift, a dark smear staining the clear sky. As he neared Hassia, the smoke became a billowing monster, reaching skyward with ravenous intent. Toshiro's heart plummeted, a sinking stone in the sea of dread pooling within him. His thoughts flew to Ren—brave, enigmatic Ren—with her warm hazel eyes and the red-tipped hair that seemed to capture embers of her spirit.

"Please be safe," he whispered to no one, the words barely audible over the road noise.

The devastation unfolded before him like a nightmarish tapestry unrolling across the land. The rebel base, once a hive of fervent activity and whispered strategy, lay in ruin. Structures that had stood defiantly were now but skeletons, their bones broken and scattered.

"Wha...what happened?" Toshiro gasped, slamming the brakes. The car skidded to an abrupt halt, the seatbelt digging into his chest, forcing the breath from his lungs. The scene before him was a war zone—a charred mockery of Christmas peace.

He scanned the wreckage, eyes stinging from the acrid smoke that coiled around him like a serpent. Flames danced across his field of vision, casting eerie shadows that flitted between the fallen. Toshiro's pulse hammered in his ears, a drumbeat to the chaos that surrounded him.

"Ren..." he whispered, the name a talisman against the overwhelming despair threatening to engulf him. He clutched at hope, a fragile thread in the smoldering veil of destruction, holding onto the belief that she had survived, that she was out there, somewhere amid the ruin.

As the smoke wove its suffocating fabric through the air, Toshiro stepped out of the car, his resolve hardening with each view of the desolation. This had not just been an attack; this was a message—one written in fire and blood by the hand of Zo.

Toshiro's boots crunched on the debris, his breath a ragged counterpoint to the crackling of fire that continued to devour what remained of the rebel base, its heat searing his face from a distance. "Ren!" His voice tore through the thick air, frayed with desperation. No response.

"Please be okay." He scanned the landscape, each overturned stone and charred support beam a testament to the horrors inflicted upon the rebel sanctuary. He feared the worst—that she had vanished beneath the devastation. Again, he cried out, pleading for a response from the deafening silence, "Ren! Please, answer me!"

His legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath him. Smoke clawed at his throat, the particles clinging to the moist edges of his lungs. "Come on, Ren," he urged into the quiet, the words barely audible above his own labored breathing. "Just give me a sign. Anything."

Stumbling over a fallen beam, his knees buckled as he landed hard on the scorched earth. Tears mixed with soot burned his eyes as he cried out, "Ren!" in desperation.